


hot water

by orphan_account



Series: in which john acts like a little priss in bed and bro is his bitch forever [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: BDSM themes, Bedwetting, Frottage, Humiliation, M/M, Omorashi, sub!bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 08:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13337541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: John takes a prank a little bit too far, but he and Bro are both kind of freaky so it all works out.





	hot water

**Author's Note:**

> john calls bro "vin" at one point and thats cause bro's name is vinny

You really thought you had finally gotten over this.

As a teenager, you were prone to bedwetting. Your grades were tanking, your parents were shitty, school was a nightmare after you were outed, and your dreams didn’t make you feel too much safer. The stress of your life was too much for your body to handle, and it manifested as soaked sheets and blushing cheeks.

(Back then, the humiliation and helplessness of it all was easy to get off on. In retrospect, this might have been where having your obsessive control stripped away from you started sounding appealing.)

Now that you share a bed with someone, though, it’s just an embarrassing hassle. The first night, you had assumed it was a fluke. The second night, you had forgotten to use the bathroom before bed.

But this is the third morning in a row that John has shaken you awake to inform you that you’ve soaked the bed, and you can’t just laugh it off again. You sit up, lips pulled into a tight scowl. John’s demeanor seems to change as soon as yours does. He looks... shocked? Nervous?

You’re too upset to decipher his expression right now.

As a teenager, this had been something you’d fantasized about— someone lying there right next to you, teasing you for doing something so childish, helping you clean up but reminding you of how humiliating this is all the while.

An angry lump forms in your throat.

“...Are you actually upset about this?” John’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and your head turns to look at him. What kind of question is that? Why wouldn’t you be upset about this? A problem you thought you’d solved over a decade ago was back in full force, right in front of the love of your life.

You just nod in response. John places his hand on your arm and looks down at the sheets, eyes guilty like a dog who’d gotten into the trash. What’s his deal?

“I... I’m sorry. I thought it’d be funny, I didn’t mean to actually upset you.” What the hell is he talking about? You raise an eyebrow inquisitively at him and he sighs, turning to reach under the bed. He pulls out a bowl of lukewarm water.

You don’t understand, but then you do. Your eyes widen. John flinches, raises his hands up in defense. “I’m sorry!” he says, guilty, nervous smile still tugging at his lips. You deflate. His smile fades.

“I... This isn’t, the first time, this shit has happened,” you murmur. You give John a rundown of the issue you had all those years ago, even telling him the pleasure you derived from it, as embarrassing as it is. You know John won’t judge. He’s just as kinky as you are, and you both know it. Still, though, the sodden sheets are cold around your thighs and it makes you feel unpleasantly small. John frowns.

“Hey... It’s okay, big guy. Let’s get the sheets in the wash, okay? I won’t do it again.”

John pauses, then cracks a grin.

“Unless you ask me to.” --

It’s been a couple of days since John last tricked your body into revisiting old, messy habits, and you haven’t been able to take your mind off of it. In retrospect, the humiliation alone is enough to get you going.

But you want more.

You want John to tease you, to rub at you through the sheets you’ve ruined, to call you names and get you off and help you clean up afterward. Nobody’s mastered aftercare quite like John has.

When you bring it up, John’s eyes sparkle like a lovestruck girl in a shoujo manga. You take a little while to go over what you’d both want out of the endeavor, John keeps handing you glasses of water and cans of soda. By the time you’re in your pajamas, you can already feel the twinge in your bladder.

Hopefully, you’ll be able to get to sleep. --

You have to piss so fucking bad.

You’re barefoot in a warm forest, ground soft beneath your toes, pixies nipping at your fingers and elbows. (It tickles.) You would be having the time of your life if it weren’t for the pressure in your abdomen.

One of the pixies, a tan one with blue hair, seems to notice your predicament and pushes at your belly with his tiny hands. The giggle that leaves his sweet, full lips is the most playfully taunting sound you’ve heard in your life. You whine, barely managing to keep yourself dry.

“It’s okay, big guy,” another one says, voice high and spritely. “You can go wherever! We don’t think that sort of thing is impolite.” She lands on your shoulder, legs kicking like a little kid in their father’s computer chair. Her smile is genuine, as are the ones belonging to the other pixies flitting your way.

They shower you with encouragement, and you finally give in. You duck behind one of the trees surrounding the grassy clearing and pull yourself out.

The relief is almost orgasmic. Warmth cradles your legs, and you don’t think to question it. You let out a pleased little sigh, relaxing completely into—   
“Baby, wake up..! Babe!”

You wake with a groan, not quite conscious enough to remember what’s going on. The bed is warm, and you were having a great dream, and...

Wait. The scene.

The bed shouldn’t be warm. It should be wet and cold and... but it is wet, just not cold, your eyes are so damn bleary, John gives you a look, and you’re suddenly awake.

You’re still going. With a gasp, you reach down to grab yourself through your soaked pajama pants. You somehow manage to quell the flow, but the sting in your bladder drags a hiss through your teeth. John just gives you a low chuckle. He reaches over to rest a hand on your trembling thigh.

His other hand pushes your own aside and cups your dick. You shudder, speaking up to try and wrap your tongue around his suddenly-very-complicated name, but he cuts you off.

“Oh, big guy, did you have an accident?” His voice drips with condescending molasses. It sends another shiver down your spine. He grins. “You’re still holding onto a lot, huh? You don’t have to do that. The sheets are already ruined, baby. Just let go.” When he starts rubbing at you a little more forcefully, you can’t disobey. Any shred of self-control you had left in you leaves in an instant as you spill over right into his hand. John hums, face flushed. He can be as domineering as he wants, but those beautiful hooded eyes will always betray how turned on he really is.

The wet patch on the bed grows, kept warm by two lovers’ worth of body heat. It soaks your legs, it soaks his legs, and when you nudge your knee forward experimentally you can feel how hard he is. A deep moan escapes your chest.

“Jo- nn- sir,” you babble. John just chuckles.

“You had to go really bad, didn’t you, baby?” Your stream finally dies down to a trickle, then to nothing, as if to exaggerate his point. He gives you a short laugh before slotting your thighs together. You’re surrounded by wet heat, and his legs are tangled up with yours, and he’s pulling your hair, and his hips are pressed flush against yours, and...

And you’re just as hard as he is, now. You moan and rut up against him.

Despite the shiver that runs through his body, John manages to speak. “Look at you. A grown man, still wetting the bed like a little boy. Did something scare you so bad you had to piss your pants, or are you just too pathetic to control yourself?”

His words (and, honestly, the twitch of his dick when he says them) drag a long, wanton moan out of your throat. Your hands reach down to grope his ass, to pull his hips in closer, and he lets it happen. He’s moaning now, too.

“Shhhhit, Vin, you’re so fucking hot when you make a mess of yourself like— like this...” His hips find a rhythm against yours, and you rock against him in time. You’ve both devolved into moans and cries in a matter of moments.

Every time your name is wrapped around his tongue you have to bite down on his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming. He undoes your measures by sucking marks into your neck.

You climax only seconds before he does. Your names melt together in the air where they hang as his hips stutter and your toes curl. Your lips collide with the same wet heat enveloping the two of you from the hips down.

After a few moments of blissful panting, tired kisses, you start to laugh. He joins you. The bed is absolutely wrecked (though, somehow, less so than you are). What a preposterous thing to get off on.

You forgo your usual tradition of snuggling up and falling asleep in favor of a shower. The bed can wait until your knees are steady enough to hold you up.


End file.
